CHAPTER XIII.
'It shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.' ISA. lxv, 24.
Mooanam awoke from his sleep soon after the dawn of day appeared. He looked up at the open window, and a strange feeling of awe came over his soul, as he beheld the rain falling gently and steadily from the dull grey sky. He sprang to his feet, and hurried into the next apartment, where he found the President and his family already assembled, and gazing at the descending shower in silent admiration.
The Sachem caught the hands of Bradford in both his own; and while a tear of deep emotion glistened in his dark eye he exclaimed—
'Now I see that your God loves you. When the red men ask for rain, and use their conjuring arts to induce the Great Spirit to hear their wild cries, he gives it, it is true; but he gives it with hail and thunder, which makes the evil still greater. Your rain is of the right kind; it will restore the drooping corn. Now we see that your God hears you, and cares for you.'
The same impression, to a certain degree, was made on all the Indians, who were taught to regard this seasonable rain as the settlers themselves regarded it—as a special interposition of Providence for their relief. And were they wrong in thus looking upon it as an answer to their prayers, from a prayer-hearing God? And was it vain superstition that led them to rejoice as much in this proof of the goodness and benevolence of the God whom they served, and of His guiding and protecting hand being outstretched for their succor, as in the prospect of coming plenty that was thus afforded to them? Surely not. Their faith, and love, and confidence in God were all animated and strengthened by their conviction that the relief thus seasonably received came directly from Him who has promised in his faithful Word, that all things, whether joyous or grievous, 'shall work together for good to them that love Him; to them that are called according to His purpose.
So deeply was Hobomak, the Wampanoge interpreter, impressed by this instance of the pious trust of his white friends in the providence of their God, and of the protection they enjoyed under His guidance and government, that he gave himself up to a serious consideration of their religion and so sincere was his desire for spiritual knowledge, and so humble and teachable did he show himself, that, after a time, he was judged fit to be admitted into the pale of the Christian church. He was baptized as the first fruits of the settlers' efforts to evangelize the heathen among whom they had cast their lot: and he lived a firm friend of the white men, and died, after residing many years among them, 'leaving a good-hope that his soul went to rest.
The welcome rain continued to fall for several hours without intermission, on the morning that succeeded the Pilgrim's day of prayer and humiliation; and Mooanam sent his young men home to fish in the lake, while he remained with his white friends, intending to follow them in the afternoon, with a party of the settlers, to share their sport. As the day advanced, the clouds broke, and warm sunshine, interrupted by frequent refreshing showers, succeeded to the settled rain of the morning. So favorable, altogether, was the change, that Winslow gratefully remarks: 'It is difficult to say whether our withered corn, or our depressed spirits, were most refreshed and quickened. So great was the benevolence and goodness of our God!'
The Pilgrims had prayed for rain; and when their prayers were granted, they did not neglect the equally incumbent Christian duty of thanksgiving. Again the congregation ascended 'the Burying Hill'; and again their united voices rose to heaven in prayers and songs of praise. Mooanam formed one of the assembly; and he listened with deep and reverent attention to the devotions of his friends, frequently applying to Hobomak, who stood at his side, to explain to him the words and sentences that he did not comprehend.
The service concluded, and the women and children were descending the hill by the path that led to the village, leaving the Governor and his council to discuss some public business, and the other men to arrange themselves as usual into companies, for the manning of their fortification and other necessary employments. Just at that moment a native, attired in the costume and equipments of a Narragansett, was seen to approach the foot of the hill, bearing a bundle of strange appearance in his hands. With a quick and decided step he mounted the height, and glanced fiercely at the females and their children, whom he passed in the winding path, and who all involuntarily shrank from the gaze of his piercing and singularly expressive eye. In the breast of Janet that glance struck a chill of horror; for she had once before encountered it, and never could she forget or mistake it again. It seemed that Fingal recognized it also, and knew the evil that it foreboded. He was bounding down the hill by Edith's side, and, with expressive looks and actions, inviting the pensive child to join in his gambols, when the savage approached. Instantly he paused, and took his stand close to his young mistress, as if to guard her from some apprehended danger; and, as the red warrior passed, and bent his eye on Edith, the sagacious creature uttered a low deep growl, and seemed ready to spring at his throat, if the hand and voice of his young companion had not restrained him. Fingal was a noble specimen of the St. Bernard breed of dogs, whose sagacity is such as frequently to appear like human reason, and his intelligence was not inferior to that of the best of his race. In this instance it did not mislead him.
The dark warrior strode on without one sign of courtesy, and paused not until he had entered the group of elders and councilors who stood around the President, prepared to attend him to the public hall. The white men made way for him to approach the Governor; and, as he did so, his keen eye met that of Rodolph Maitland, and instantly kindled with a deeper fire, and gleamed with an expression of almost diabolical vengeance, which was seen by Rodolph, and understood by him for he, too, could not fail to recognize in the Narragansett warrior that same Coubitant who had fought so well at 'the first encounter,' and who had afterwards attended the Nausett Chief, Tisquantum, when he and his people were repulsed in their attack on New Plymouth. It was evident to Maitland that this savage entertained towards him and his race a peculiar sentiment of hatred; but the cause of this feeling was unknown to him.
The idea, however, that Henrich's loss was in some way connected with this man—or that he could give him some information respecting the nature of his son's death, and the place where his remains had been deposited—came forcibly to his mind; and, regardless of the cold malignant gaze that Coubitant fixed on him, he hastily approached him, and exclaimed in the Indian tongue—'Surely you are the Nausett warrior whom I saw with the Sachem of that tribe. If so, you can tell me the fate of my son—the boy who was carried off, and, I fear, cruelly slain when Tisquantum and his people retired from these woods. O, tell me how my boy was murdered, and where his dear remains were laid!
Rodolph's fine countenance was lighted up with eager animation. A tear of fond regret and affection glistened in his eye, and he could have grasped the hand of the swarthy savage, and almost have blessed him, if he would have told him that his darling Henrich had died by a single blow, and that his body had been laid unmolested to rest. But Coubitant drew back, and with a smile of fierce mockery and infernal triumph, replied briefly—
'Ha! you found his bloody coat then. May your heart's blood soon flow forth as his did; and may my eyes see your body equally mangled and defaced!'
At the same moment, he placed the bundle that he carried on the ground before the President, saying, 'This comes from the Chief of the Narragansetts!' and, turning away, hastily descended the hill, and was lost to view among the trees of the skirting wood, before the council had time to resolve on the course they should pursue respecting his detention, or Rodolph had recovered the shock that his cruel words had inflicted.
The curiosity of the Governor and his friends was now directed to the strange-looking package that lay on the ground. On examination, they found the envelope to be composed of a dried snakeskin, which was quickly opened, and disclosed several Indian arrows. Squanto gazed on these with a significant look; and on being questioned by Bradford as to the meaning of so singular an offering, he informed him that it was the native mode of declaring war.
The well-known enmity of the Narragansetts towards the Wampanoges—the friends and allies of the settlers—rendered this hostile declaration no surprise to the Governor and his council. But the fact of its being conveyed by Coubitant, who had so lately, in the character of a subordinate Narragansett chieftain, subscribed the written acknowledgement of King James's supremacy, excited no small astonishment. It was a source, also, of regret, as it proved how little dependence could be placed in the professions of the natives. To enter on a war with the numerous and powerful tribe of the Narragansetts, was likewise far from being desirable in any point of view; for the Pilgrims were little prepared either to meet such formidable antagonist's in the field, or to resist the continual attacks and aggression's that constitute the greatest share of Indian warfare.
A consultation was therefore held as to the best method of replying to the challenge of the Narragansett Sachem; and it was finally determined that the most prudent and effectual course would be to show a resolute appearance, and give no cause to the native's to suppose that they dreaded their enmity. A bold acceptance of the challenge might, it was urged both by Squanto and Hobomak, strike terror into the savages, and deter them from prosecuting their present hostile intentions.
Bradford, therefore, adopted the Indian method of communicating this reply by expressive signs; and, taking the arrows—which appeared to be poisoned—from the snakeskin, he placed some gunpowder and balls in the significant wrapper. He then inquired who among his trusty warrior's would volunteer to take the packet to the dwelling of Cundincus,[*] the Chief of the Narragansetts. Several offered their services; and, among those, none was so eager to be employed as Rodolph Maitland. He felt an earnest desire to see and speak with Coubitant once more: and no fear of the personal risk that he might incur in the expedition could deter him from thus making another attempt to obtain some certain information respecting his lost son.
[Footnote: Afterwards called by the settlers, Canonicus.]
Had the President known how much reason there was to fear that treachery might be exercised towards Maitland, he would surely not have suffered him thus to risk his valuable life. Rut he was ignorant of all the peculiar circumstances that had occurred to show that he was a special mark for the vengeance of Coubitant: and the confidence he felt in his courage and ability led him—on this occasion, as on many others—to select him as his ambassador. Two companions were assigned to him, and Squanto was desired to attend the party as interpreter.
When Helen heard that her husband was appointed to convey a reply to the war-like message of the dark savage whom she had met on the hill, and whose aspect had filled her with terror, she felt an involuntary dread; and gladly would she have dissuaded him from accepting the office of ambassador—which she knew not he had so earnestly solicited—had she not been well aware that all such attempts would be useless. Rodolph was not a man to shrink from any service that was required of him for the public good; and least of all from any service that involved danger and difficulty. He, however, concealed from his anxious wife the fact that he had recognized in the Narragansett messenger a deadly and determined foe, knowing how greatly—and perhaps how justly—her fears would be increased, if she suspected that the Indian champion was one of those who had planned and executed the capture of her eldest son.
But Janet had, as we have seen, remembered the swarthy savage, and the scene with which his countenance was associated in her mind; and when she had an opportunity of speaking to her master in private, she implored him to resign the embassy into other hands, and not thus rashly to encounter a foe, whose public conduct had proved him to be unworthy of confidence, and whose expression of countenance betokened both cruelty and treachery. But all her arguments were unavailing. Maitland had undertaken the charge of the expedition at his own request; and he would have felt himself dishonored in now declining it from any personal motives, even had he been, in the least degree, inclined to do so. On the contrary, his spirit was roused and excited by the very perils he was conscious he might have to encounter; and his desire to obtain, and convey to Helen, some intelligence of Henrich— even if that intelligence should still for ever the doubts end hopes, that, in spite of every past circumstance, would sometimes arise in his own heart, and that of his own wife—was so great that nothing could have turned him from his purpose. He, therefore, desired the faithful Janet to preserve the same silence on the subject of Coubitant that she had already so judiciously adopted towards her mistress; and assured her that he would neglect no precaution that might preserve him from the treacherous intentions of the Indian, should any such be actually entertained by him.
The next morning Rodolph started at break of day, to convey the reply of the Governor to the Narragansett Sachem, whose tribe inhabited the district now called Rhode Island, lying to the south-west of New Plymouth. He was accompanied by two friends, and likewise by the interpreter, Squanto. His faithful dog, Fingal, also showed such a strong desire to follow his master, that, although it was Maitland's usual custom to leave him at home as a guard, during any of his occasional absences, when his services in hunting were not required, he could not, in this instance, resist his eager pleadings. Helen, also, assured him that she should feel no apprehension at being deprived of her usual protector, as no danger was likely to menace her dwelling; and the increase in the population of the village, from the arrival of the new settlers, had added an inmate to the family, in the person of Claude Felton, a stout young laboring man, who had become the useful assistant of Maitland in his agricultural occupations, and proved a good and faithful servant.
To his protection and watchful care Rodolph Maitland committed his little family; and, taking a cheerful farewell of his wife and Edith, he commenced his journey through the wild and almost trackless woods. Guided by Squanto, the party reached the village of Cundineus, and were received into the presence of the Sachem and his nephew Miantonomo, who shared with him the cares and the dignity of his chieftainship.
With the assistance of the interpreter, Rodolph informed the Chiefs that he was the bearer of the reply of the mighty strangers to the bold challenge that had been sent to them on the part of Cundineus and Miantonomo; and he invited them to open the packet which he laid before them, in order that they might fully understand the nature of that reply, and judge whether the subjects of the powerful king of Great Britain were terrified at the audacity of the red men. Probably Squanto made some additions of his own to the harangue of the ambassador; for a very ludicrous change of expression appeared on the countenances of the savage Chieftains. The looks of fierce defiance with which they had received the embassy gave way to anxious and timid glances, which they hastily cast at the ominous snake-skin, while they involuntarily drew back, as if they feared it would explode, and punish their rash temerity.
Rodolph saw the effect of Squanto's version of his speech, and resolved to increase it. He understood enough of the native tongue to perceive that the interpreter had alluded to the potent and deadly properties of the contents of the snake-skin, and he desired him to inform the Chiefs that the musket which he carried in his hand contained a very small portion of the same substance, and he would give them proof of its power. He then glanced for a moment into the lofty trees that surrounded the place of audience, and perceiving a monkey that was clinging to one of the wide-spreading branches, nod chattering angrily at the intrusive foreigners, he took a deliberate aim, and in another instant the creature lay lifeless and motionless on the ground. The Indians were startled at the report, and amazed at the effect of the invisible messenger of death. They hastened to examine the dead animal but one drop of blood issuing from its skull was the only indication that some missile had pierced its brain; and the veneration of the Narragansetts and their Chiefs for the prowess of the white men evidently rose in a great degree.
But there was one among them who did not share the wonder or the awe of the assembly. He stood silent and motionless, at a little distance from the group, with his eyes intently fixed on Rodolph's countenance, and a smile of malignant scorn and triumph on his own dark features. His arms were folded across his scarred and painted breast, and his right hand grasped the handle of a long knife that was stuck into his deerskin belt. The action seemed to be involuntary, and without any present purpose; for he remained in the same position, unobserved by Rodolph, until he and his attendants had retired to the hut appointed them by Cundineus, to rest and refresh themselves, end await the reply of the Chief.
Rodolph then desired Squanto to make inquiries for Coubitant, and, if possible, to bring him to the hut. But the sagacious interpreter had seen and recognized the white mans face; and he earnestly entreated Maitland not to give him any opportunity of executing the vengeance which was evidently burning at his heart, and ready to break forth in some deed of fatal violence. Rodolph's English friends also joined so warmly in these entreaties that he at length consented that Squanto should seek the savage, and endeavor to draw from him all the information that he could give respecting Henrich's death. He did so, and a long conversation took place that evening, the result of which was that he assured Rodolph that his son had indeed been murdered in the wood, as he had always supposed, and that his scalp had been torn off even before life was extinct, whilst his body had been conveyed to the next encampment, and burned with many heathen rites, to appease the troubled spirit of Tisquantum's son Tekoa.
The father shuddered, and turned away to hide the rising tear, as he listened to this harrowing but false account. He, however, fully believed it; and felt that, henceforth, it would be vain to cherish any hope concerning his son, except that blessed hope which is the privilege of the Christian—the sure and certain hope of meeting hereafter, in the presence of the God and Savior in whom he had taught his child to place his trust. He said no more; he did not even question Squanto as to the cause of his having spent so long a time in conferring with Coubitant, when all the information he had obtained amounted merely to the sad assurance that his son had suffered a dreadful death. Had he done so, the interpreter might have found it difficult to account for his conduct, as he had professed a strong dislike to Coubitant, and a distrust of all his motives and actions. The fact was, that the wily savage had discovered Squanto's love of importance, and his desire to be supposed to possess the confidence of the white men, and by flattering his vanity, he had drawn from him all the information he could give with respect to the strength of the settlers, and their capability of resisting an attack of the natives. Squanto took care to exaggerate the numbers and the power of his employers; but still it appeared to Coubitant, that if he could once more induce the neighboring tribes to combine and invade their territory, there was every probability of their being utterly exterminated and nothing short of this could satisfy the feeling of hatred that he entertained towards the whole race of the strangers. By way of exalting the might of the settlers in the minds of the native, Squanto assured Coubitant that the white men kept the plague, of which the Indians well knew the desolating effects, imprisoned in a cellar, where they also stowed, their gunpowder, and that they could let it loose upon their foes at their pleasure. This strange evidence was heard also by Miantonomo, whom Coubitant called to join the conference, as he, knew that he already hated the English; and he desired to strengthen that feeling to the utmost, for the furtherance of his own plans.
From Coubitant, Squanto also received some intelligence, which, in the minds both of the superstitious interpreter and his heathen informant, was of vital importance to the settlers, and calculated to inspire them with dread. This was the awful fact that, a short time previous, several of the neighboring tribes had met in the adjacent forest, and that the Powows of the whole district had passed three days and nights in cursing the strangers, and uttering against them the most horrible imprecations. The effect of this diabolical proceeding, in causing the defeat of their foes, Coubitant did not do not; and, in spite of his veneration for the English, and his conviction that their deities were more powerful than the Indian demons, Squanto was filled with apprehensions on their account. He communicated the circumstance to Rodolph, and was surprised and almost offended at the smile of indifference and contempt with which the Christian listened to him. But he found it impossible to make him attach any importance to what seemed to him so serious a calamity; and, by degrees, his own fears subsided and his mind was reassured by the arguments and the cool composure of Maitland.
Rodolph and his companions lay down to rest for the night in the Indian hut, across the entrance of which Squanto placed several strong boughs, and spread a cloak of deer-skin over them. This was done ostensibly for the purpose of keeping out the cold night wind, but really to serve as a screen from the prying eyes of Coubitant, whose intentions he much mistrusted, and also as an obstacle to any attempt he might possibly make to violate the laws of honor and hospitality, by a secret attack on the person of the ambassador. Whether the savage actually meditated any such act of treachery, was not known; but if he approached the hut with a murderous purpose, he was probably deterred more by the fierce growlings of Fingal—who lay at the entrance, but scarcely slept that night—than by the barrier of boughs and deerskin.
Several times were the party awakened by the trusty watch-dog's angry bark; and once, when Rodolph hastened to the entrance, and drew aside the curtain, he thought he could descry more than one retreating figure in the uncertain darkness. The continued uneasiness of Fingal prevented his master from again giving way to sleep until after day had dawned, when his faithful guard became tranquil, and he likewise sought the repose which he greatly needed before recommencing his fatiguing journey.
Ere he set out on his homeward way, Rodolph again repaired, with Squanto, to the presence of the Chief; to demand his message to the British Governor; and he was informed by Cundincus, that he had already dispatched a messenger to restore the dreaded packet, and to deprecate the wrath of the pale-faced Chieftain. This was all the ambassador could desire; and, taking a courteous leave of the Sachem, he and his attendants resumed their journey without further delay.
For a considerable distance their path lay through the forest; and the underwood was so close and thick that the road consisted of a narrow track, scarcely wider than would admit of two persons passing one another along it, and only calculated for travelling in 'Indian file,' which is so much practiced by the natives. In this manner our party proceeded, Rodolph leading the way, and his attendants following singly; while Fingal, who seemed rejoiced to have left the village, bounded along at his master's side, ever and anon leaping up to express his joy by licking his face and hands.
'Down, Fingal!' said his master, kindly patting his favorite's head, and stroking his thick shaggy mane. 'Down, my good fellow; your joy is too boisterous for this narrow, thorny path. You shall expend your superfluous strength and spirits on the plain yonder; for I think I detect some game scudding across the green meadow before us.'
Rodolph paused to adjust his gun; and the sagacious dog ceased his wild demonstrations, end paused also until the task was completed. Then as his master rose to proceed, he once more sprang up to his shoulder, end his intelligent eyes asked leave to dash through the covert, and drive out the expected game.
But why did that bound of pleasure change instantaneously into a convulsion of agony? and why did the noble creature fall by his master's side and look so earnestly up into his face? Surely, in the midst of his own death struggle, he sought to tell him, with that mute eloquence of love, that danger was near. Rodolph knew that it was so; but no danger could then have compelled him to leave his dying friend— the friend whose life was now ebbing away as a sacrifice for his own. Yes! the shaft that had pierced through the neck of Fingal was designed for Rodolph's breast; and he who cast it deemed that it had found its intended mark, when, through the bushes, he saw the white man's form bend quickly and suddenly to the ground. Then Coubitant fled exultingly, and his savage heart beat high with joy and triumph.
But Rodolph thought not of him, or of his malice. He only saw his faithful dog expiring at his side, and knew that he had no power to aid him. It was evident that the arrow was poisoned, for the wound, otherwise, appeared too slight to be mortal; and the foam that gathered on Fingal's jaws, and the convulsive struggle that shook his form, showed too plainly that his sufferings would soon be over. The companions of Rodolph urged him to join them in instant flight; for they felt the peril of their present situation, where the surrounding thicket gave such ample opportunity to their lurking foes to take a deadly aim, while, at the same time, it prevented them from either discovering or pursuing their assailants. But all their arguments, and all their entreaties, were unavailing so long as Fingal continued to lick his master's caressing hand, and to reply to his well-known voice, by looks of intelligent affection.
Soon, however, his head sank powerless on Rodolph's knee, and the bright glance of his eye faded away, and life and motion ceased. Was it unmanly in his master to brush a tear from his eye, as he rose from the ground, and turned away one moment from the lifeless form of his favorite?
I will not leave him here,' he said. 'The savages shall not mangle his body, as they would gladly have mangled mine. His death has saved my life; and all that remains of him shall be carried to a place of safety, and buried beyond the reach of those who slew him.'
'Yes,' replied Squanto readily—for he desired the removal of the dog from that spot, for other reasons beside the gratification of Maitland's feelings—' Yes; we will carry him away, and hide him from Coubitants eyes. Doubtless he will return here, as soon as all is quiet, to see the success of his murderous attempt; and when he finds the path thus stained with blood, he will be satisfied, and pursue us no further than to see whether we bury our dead companion in the forest, or bear him to his home. We must, therefore, carry Fingal all the way to New Plymouth, lest he should follow on our trail, and discover that he has only slain a dog.
Rodolph's English companions concurred in this view, and willingly lent their aid to convey the body of Fingal from the place of his death. A couple of poles were cut hastily, and a rude light litter was formed; for Squanto wished that Coubitant should find traces of such preparations, as they would help to convince him that they had thus borne away the wounded or dead form of the ambassador.
'Now,' said he, when all was ready, 'not another moment must be lost. Even now the keen eye of the foe may be upon us, and our stratagem may be in vain. Two of you must bear the litter, and must carefully place your feet in the same spot, so as to form but one track; and lead our pursuers to believe that only three men have passed along. And there, throw that bloody handkerchief on the path, and Coubitant will take it as a trophy of success. Stay, he exclaimed, as Rodolph and one of his friends were about to raise the lifeless form of Fingal from the ground 'stay one moment, and I will completely deceive that deceiver.'
He smiled as he spoke, for he felt it a pleasure and a triumph to outwit the wily Coubitant. Then, while the body of the dog was supported, he carefully pressed his feet on the soft path, so as to leave a distinct impression, and convince any who should examine the trail that it was not the dog who had been wounded. This cunning device he practiced again and again until they had passed through the wood, and entered the grassy meadow, where such precautions were no longer needed. Then the party quickened their steps, and paused not again until they had struck deeply into the forest that succeeded to the undulating reach of meadowland.
The way seemed long to Rodolph. He desired to reach his cherished home; and yet he dreaded to return and sadden the heart of his little Edith with the story of Fingal's death, and the sight of the inanimate form of her last and much-loved playfellow. Had it not been for this catastrophe, he would have kept from his wife and child the knowledge of the cruel attempt that had been made on his life as such knowledge could only distress them, and cause them needless anxiety and alarm in future. But the death of Fingal must be accounted for; and, let the consequence be what it might, it must be accounted for truly, and without prevarication. Therefore it was that Rodolph dreaded meeting those whose presence was the joy and the sunlight of his life.
He reached his home, and silently entered his blooming garden; and, with Squanto's assistance, laid the body of Fingal, now cold and stiff, beneath the venerable tree that shaded Edith's bower. Then he entered his dwelling, and found its inmates busily employed at their usual domestic occupations, and overjoyed at his sudden and unexpected arrival. But, in spite of his own pleasure, a shade of sadness and anxiety was on his brow, which he could not hide from the quick eye of Helen; and she eagerly inquired the cause.
Sadly Rodolph told his story; and joy and deep gratitude for the preservation of her beloved husband so filled and engrossed the heart of Helen, as, for a time, to overpower every feeling of regret for the loss of the faithful animal, who seemed to have been providentially directed to accompany his master, and save his life at the sacrifice of his own.
But Edith keenly felt the loss she had sustained. She was thankful— very thankful—that her father had been restored to their home in safety; but she did not the less deplore the death of her dear companion: and, unable to restrain her tears, she hurried from the house, and ran to hide her grief in her lonely bower. For some time her parents did not perceive her absence, for they were occupied with their own feelings of pious gratitude; but presently Rodolph remarked that she had left the room, and remembered where he had deposited the body of her favorite. He rose, and went towards the spot, accompanied by Helen; and tears of sorrowful sympathy arose in the eyes of both, as they beheld the desolate child lying on the ground by Fingals side, with her arms around his neck, and her long waving hair hanging over his inanimate face, that had never before met her gaze without an answering look of intelligence and affection.
Gently they raised her, and spoke to her words of love and comfort; but she long refused to be comforted. And though, at length, she became calm and resigned, and never was heard to utter one murmur at this fresh stroke of sorrow, yet her pensive sadness became more confirmed, and plainly showed that she mourned for Fingal, not only as her lost companion, but also as a connecting link between her own heart and the memory of her lamented brother. Poor Edith! her early life was one of trial and disappointment; but it was good for her to be afflicted.'